Come back, okay?
by sisypheandreamer
Summary: "Hey sarge! Are we going dancing?" "Yes we are!" And on his last night before he was shipped to England, after they did go dancing, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes walked Connie Oswald home. (Connie Oswald as an echo of Clara Oswald, following the events of The Name of the Doctor.) ONESHOT.


"So, did you have a good time?"

Ever the gentleman, Sergeant James Barnes remained. Albeit, unlike a lot of the fad dads who'd tried to schmooze a certain Constance "Connie" Oswald off her feet, his charm was not reduced to his uniform and impending life-sustaining trauma.

Too many eyes and smirks had worn the whole "I might die tomorrow" speech in an effort to get girls like her to give them the best today of their lives. Yet with a James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, he could have been wearing some sort of sackcloth and waving a tin can with a couple of pennies in it and she still might have said yes.

It was in his smile and his bright, winning too blue eyes that had won her over. That baritone tongue of his that could bring any dame with knees shaking and a tingle up their spine helped just the same. He wasn't a total schmuck about it either as he wore with him a grace and poise of a man with a certain class and wasn't just after a pretty face who might spread her legs wider than a turkey during Thanksgiving.

And when he'd asked to take her not to a picture or a speakeasy (not directly, at least) but to the Stark Expo ? The man had style, even she had to admit, and Connie Oswald was smitten from the get go. So why the hell not, she asked herself, when he'd asked (and if she might manage to produce a friend along for a double date with his friend whom he had appraised to the highest of heavens).

Of course, she delivered. That was her MO, after all. Her daddy'd marketed her around as a girl who can do the impossible. Shiny bouncy hair and hands made for sewing or collecting porcelain teacups or something else that was just as dainty but she had dark eyes too curious that had a knack for uncanny detail. She could fix just about any engine on any car or motor that still had hope. Say it can't and she'll just come and say to come and meet the girl who can.

Uncanny Connie, the impossible girl. And he had his arm around her shoulder and she wore a grin on her face that would not nor could not fade away. It was too nice a night.

"Sure did, sugar. Can't say the same about your friend, though. But you bet your buttons Bonbon's probably not going to talk to me for a week, mister. You promised her the man of her dreams."

She was leaning against him as she felt his hand on her arm, gently rubbing as he laughed and held her just a little bit tighter. The streets were quieter at this time of night. There would still be the odd radio program, talking on the goings on about the other side of the war.

There might be a quick car or cab that might rush through the littered street but it would pass them by quicker than they would notice it. Lights would be off and only God and they know what could be happening to soldiers off to war tomorrow and their wives already practising their grief.

Their pace was slow as above them, the moon shone a delightful white sheen upon the yellow that did so colour the streets from the lamps that still worked around them. The click of their heels bounced off the pavement and it was that one rhythmic sound that filled the air, apart from their voices that had been recounting the evening spent.

"Well, kid's had a rough time of it. Your friend might've been a little too rough on him. His skill with the ladies isn't quite as polished," he said and she could hear the smirk on him. She turned her head upward and looked to him, a brow arched as if challenging his claim.

"And _yours_ is, huh?" she dared.

"That's for _you_ to tell _me_, little lady," he replied.

It must have worked on his behalf as already, she took him by the lapels of his coat and kissed him full on the mouth, without hesitation or warning or any bout even close to apparent shyness.

His hands went to her hips as her arms circled around his neck and before either of them wanted it to, she broke it off with a giggle and said not another word. It was a shame, though. The soldier was a more than decent kisser as he'd just about made her feel as if she were the only girl he'd ever done that to; or at least the only girl whose kiss would ever matter. Though she was not quite fool enough to believe that. It was a good kiss and it had ended too soon. It was a shame that she was now sending him off to war.

She took his hand in hers and led him farther down the street to the front of her father's shop (which second floor housed her and her father). And he was no longer quite as chaste as he was unafraid to now lean in to her for a kiss and she was certainly not going to push him away as he did so. Especially with eyes too bright, too blue and a patented smirk that he wore too well.

"You're not going to remember me, are you?"

Her voice was too quiet. Her arms were wrapped around him and she was on her tiptoes just so he wouldn't have to lean so low. Bucky grinned a grin that might humble the Cheshire cat and he brushed the tip of his nose against hers.

"How could I ever forget a pretty face like yours?"

Connie rolled her eyes. She gave him another kiss that was meant to be quick but he wouldn't quite let her widen that distance. They never did get a slow dance; this was the next best thing.

Her little heart fluttered in her chest and she knew this boy was trouble. Or he very well could be. And part of her was glad to be rid of him for there was every possibility that he could be someone special. But what with the war, that might not be the case. This might be the last time she sees him, the last time she holds him. But for a moment, those dark curious eyes memorise every last detail of his blue ones and allows the fantasy of fate into her heart, if for a moment. And maybe this was the end of their story but maybe they could be.

Maybe. In another life.

There were too many maybes and what ifs and in that moment, all Connie Oswald wanted to think about was how beautiful he was. And that was a fact known and concrete.

"There are lots of pretty girls in England, Bucky."

"None of them'll be half as pretty as you."

"And you think you're so slick with that line, huh?"

"Hey, if it _works_…"

He leaned in for another kiss and she let him. It was longer this time and it lingered and he tasted like scotch, peanuts, and candyfloss. She tasted of, more or less, the same. The lamp in front of her house flickered and it was as good a time as any for her hold to break and for her arms to slip out of its lock on him and her hands slid to his chest and she looked to him.

She hadn't realised that her foot had risen behind her as she now only stood on one. Connie smiled at him and rest a hand against his shaven cheek. He returned the favour with more of a grin than a smirk. It had been a nice night. She spoke in a whisper and he'd replied in the same way, effectively embedding his words to her memory. And if fate might allow, he would remember. And if fate were kind, so would she. For now — they had this.

"Come back, okay? I don't think I'm through with you just yet."

"Honey, you couldn't keep me away."

A/N: Goodness gracious. It's been a while, fanfiction. But yes, hello. This is probably a one-shot but I'm not even going to lie, the chemistry with Bucky & Clara is totally addicting and this might not be my last. Or maybe it is. I don't want to make any promises I can't keep. I do adore it ever so much and maybe if you leave me some prompts, I could whip something up? Or hell, if I see that people like it, then I'll write up some of the Winter Soufflé (TM Jonnah D. or Barneswald, alternatively, but I like the sound of Winter Soufflé better) things I've been working on with my lovely friend, Sarah. So yep. There you go, friends. Reviews would be lovely and a great way for me to know if you want more!

xx, Jonnah.


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